by Scott Baron
“My, my. Aren’t you an unusual one?” the woman purred. It was a horrifying sound.
“What’s your problem, lady?” Henni shot back with a false bravado she was definitely not feeling.
“Problem? Why, there is no problem. At least, not now. You are a most interesting specimen, I must admit. Such a unique inner strength. And your resistance to our methodology? It’s utterly unheard of. So much so that when I was informed of the strange problems my associates were having with you and our extraction chair, I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d perhaps somehow come in contact with the Balamar waters.”
“The Balamar what, now?”
“The rarest of the rare. Priceless. And something one like you would never have access to. But now I see what it is about you,” the woman said with a smile that chilled Henni to the bone.
“Oh, you do, do you?” the young woman blustered.
“Indeed. It would seem you somehow possess a power not entirely unlike our ancient winged friends, though you spit sarcasm rather than fire. You also do not possess a scaled hide. With this Zomoki-like power, it is no wonder the chair will not work on you.”
“Yeah, nice try with that,” Henni said, enjoying her brief moment of superiority. Sadly, it was to be short lived.
“See what we mean, Boss? She’s impossible,” the nearest guard said.
“Yep, that’s me. Henni the Impossible. And since your little chair-thingy won’t work on me, you might as well cut your losses and just let me go now.”
The woman leaned in close and smiled with a warmth that froze Henni to the core. “The chair might not work on you,” she said, “but I think I have something that might.”
Henni strained against her control collar, wishing ever so much to claw the woman’s eyes out. But the magic held her back.
“Screw you, lady,” she spat with venom.
“You may call me Niallik,” the woman replied. “And I believe you will soon be changing your tune, whether you wish to or not.” Niallik turned to the guards. “Please, bring her, if you would be so kind,” she said, then strode casually from the chamber.
Chapter Twenty
“Seriously?” Henni asked as she looked around the room. For a torture and power extraction chamber, it was not at all what she’d expected.
“You disapprove?” Niallik asked with a deceptively kind smile.
The violet-haired girl scanned the room for implements that might be used to torture her or otherwise force her to give up the power she was only now beginning to understand. But all she saw were a few seemingly random and quite unintimidating bits of apparatus that didn’t appear to be made for torture at all, and a simple tub full of water.
It seemed as though she had gone from a potentially difficult situation into a rather easy one. Or so she thought.
“Over there,” Niallik commanded.
The goons muscled Henni toward the tub of water the woman had gestured toward. From afar it had seemed innocuous, but as she neared, Henni could feel a malevolent tug from the water itself. There was power in it. Magic, and the bad kind at that.
A look of fear flashed across Henni’s face, and she pushed back fiercely.
“I’m not jumping in no Balamar bath!” she blurted, windmilling her arms in a futile attempt at escape.
Niallik merely laughed. “Oh, my sweet, ignorant child. You think those are Balamar waters?” she said as she glanced at the guards, who seemed to find the proposition as amusing as she did. “Why, just a few drops of those waters are priceless. And an entire tub of it? Why, you could buy entire worlds with that amount of wealth. Systems, even.”
“So, that’s not those Balamar waters, then?”
“No,” Niallik replied. “But I do think you will find this quite interesting nonetheless.”
She nodded to the tub, and the goons pushed Henni forward. The young woman fought with all her strength, but the two men simply lifted her up off of her feet while Niallik engaged her control collar. The magic paralyzed her while the woman stripped her of her clothes.
Henni was turning red with fury, held aloft, nude, by her captors.
“Now, now. No need to be shy,” Niallik cooed. “No one means you any harm. Not in that way, anyway.”
She nodded to the guards, whereupon the two men dumped her into the tub, lowering her into a reclining position. The control collar’s power quickly began to fade, but rather than fight to get out of the tub and flee, Henni found herself actually feeling quite good.
The water was warm, and it tingled ever so pleasantly on her skin. In just a moment she began wondering why she had been struggling to avoid the tub in the first place. This was comforting. This was good.
“Yes, that’s it. Very good. You see? This isn’t so bad at all, is it?”
Henni was doing her best to think up a snarky comeback, but she was simply too relaxed to bother, drifting off into a comfortable nap, embraced by the tub’s magical waters as they gently leeched out the tiniest trace of her power.
The young woman’s inert frame was light, and with her finally not thrashing and struggling and being an all-around pain in the ass, the guards were able to maneuver her slumbering mass back into her cell with ease.
Visla Jinnik, drained as he was, watched from his cot, pretending to be asleep in hopes of picking up any carelessly spilled tidbits of information. The two men were relatively tight-lipped, however, and said nothing of any importance.
They had just dumped Henni onto her cot then turned and headed out, leaving her to recover.
“Henni, are you awake?” Jinnik quietly asked when they were gone.
She lay still, unresponsive.
“Henni, they’re gone. You can speak now.”
Still nothing.
Visla Jinnik reached out with his slowly recovering power, probing the girl’s state even through the magical partition between them. It would cost him a bit of energy casting this particular type of spell, but he had developed a fondness for this young woman, and was actually concerned for her wellbeing.
Fortunately, it appeared that while she was soundly asleep, she had not been harmed in whatever process it was that had rendered her so. There were still some faint traces of magic lingering on her, but it was unlike any the visla had ever encountered. It was not good, though, whatever it was. Of that he was certain.
It would be some time before she would wake from her slumber, it seemed, and until then, he would not be getting any answers from his young friend.
Niallik was quietly sipping a steaming mug of herbal tea when the two guards returned to the draining chamber. The woman looked utterly at ease. Pleased, even, as she studied the small vial of glistening liquid in her fingers.
“She is back in her cell?”
“Yeah. Sleepin’ like a baby,” the nearest man replied.
“Wonderful,” Niallik said with a contented grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“Nah, not really,” the man admitted. “And if you can do that, maybe we can finally get rid of that Jinnik fella. He’s a real pain in our arses, if you know what I mean. Always fighting back and whatnot. He’s not making any of this easy.”
“Nor would I expect him to,” Niallik said. “But no, we cannot be rid of the visla just yet. He may still be of use to us.”
“But you were able to take the girl’s power. So why do we need him anymore?”
“Because, my thick-skulled friend, the girl is an incredibly difficult and unusual subject.”
“You can say that again.”
“And normal extraction techniques have no effect on her, as you know. But my specialized method does seem to prove that it can, in fact, be done,” she said, holding the tiny vial up to the light.
The swirling liquid inside gleamed as it flowed. The sparkle was akin to the light in Henni’s galactic eyes.
Niallik watched it with fascination, then let out a little sigh. “It is, however, an extremely slow process, and at the end of such a great effort, all
I was able to refine from all of that work was this. An entire tub’s worth of expenditure, as well as a very difficult bit of casting, and all I could condense from it was this small amount. And after such a prolonged extraction session, no less. That is simply not acceptable. Not yet, anyway.”
“Well, at least you got something from her. It’s more than we’d been able to do.”
“Precisely. But it is not enough. Not for our employer’s needs. So, you see, we will not be ending the visla just yet. Not while he can still power our weapons. But we do have a promising new option on our plate. Now I just need to figure out how best to utilize her before Maktan and his lapdog lose patience.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Samara stood calmly in the emmik’s receiving area, utterly unimpressed by the show of power and connections displayed prominently throughout.
Yes, he had been working closely with the now deceased Visla Ravik. And yes, he was also a vital henchman for Visla Maktan. But the emmik himself was only moderately powerful on his own, and while dealing with an assassin of her caliber, despite her being under his command, his attempts at intimidation were simply laughable.
That didn’t stop him from trying, though, and her lack of reaction only served to irritate him further.
“It is not your place to question, Samara. You are merely a tool, and one being wielded at the visla’s express command,” the emmik stated. “No thinking. No back talk. You are not meant to think. You are meant to act. A tool to be wielded without question.”
She knew he was correct, of course. He had been the Council overseer during the assault that had landed them the young violet-haired woman, and they had butted heads about it at the time. Taking young women prisoner was distasteful to Samara, though hers was not to question but to obey. But for a Ghalian assassin, taking a subservient role was not exactly an easy ask.
“This is not right,” she said, repeating the same argument she’d been making ever since they snatched up the unusual young woman. “The girl is an innocent.”
“Says the assassin,” the emmik laughed.
“Even assassins have a code,” she replied. “And the Ghalian abide by them.”
“Good thing you’re no longer a Ghalian, then,” he shot back, knowing the barb would land but she would not dare strike him down. Not unless she wanted to face the fallout that would bring down upon her.
Samara ignored the comment, denying him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I may no longer be with the order, but that does not change my sense of honor,” she replied, maintaining her composure. “And kidnapping and enslaving an innocent is abhorrent. Preying on those weaker than you for mere profit is a coward’s game.”
“You care to tell Visla Maktan that? He ordered this one’s capture personally. But if you believe you know better than he, I can call him, you know. Send an urgent skree to him. Maybe he’ll come visit us personally to have that discussion with you face-to-face.”
Samara had dealt with Visla Maktan on a few occasions, and she knew better than to keep baiting his lackey, so she bit her tongue and let it pass.
“Smart girl,” the emmik said with obvious relish. “Visla Ravik may have given you some leeway with that lip of yours, but he’s dead now, and rest assured, Maktan will not be so generous.”
The stocky woman they had brought in to work her special talents on their newest prisoner entered the room with an air of satisfied confidence. Like Samara, she had no fear of the emmik, only a toned-down air of obligation. But unlike the Wampeh, she had no compunction about experimenting on anyone. Not the visla, not the girl, no one.
“What is it, Niallik? You’d better have something for me,” the emmik grumbled.
“Oh, I do,” she said with barely suppressed glee. “The girl definitely has power. Precisely how much I can’t judge. Not yet, anyway. And it is a very unusual type of magic.”
“She made an entire ship jump several systems when she panicked, Niallik. Believe me, we all know she has unusual power.”
“Well, yes, obviously. But your people have been unable to do anything about it so far.”
“Again, we know. Get to the point, woman.”
Niallik kept a neutral expression, but Samara knew full well the woman wanted nothing more than to plant her fist in the man’s face. It was a feeling she was quite familiar with.
Niallik took a breath. This was work, and she was being paid, and quite well at that, so she let it go, as she’d done on far too many occasions for her liking––but to the great benefit of her personal wealth.
“Yes, of course,” she said with a warm smile. “I’ll just get to it, then. The girl is in possession of a type of magic I’ve only heard rumor of, and only a few times in my career at that. One thought to be a wives’ tale. But it would seem she is the real thing.”
“Which means?”
“She contains a variety of magic akin to that of the Zomoki of old, though somewhat different in its presentation. As you know, the visla has been utterly unable to tap the power from the Zomoki he’s captured thus far. And like those, and the several Wampeh he’s drained as well, this one seemed to be impossible to draw from as well.”
Samara’s look of outrage showed through her calm visage, despite her best efforts.
Niallik smiled warmly, enjoying twisting that knife a little. “Oh, you didn’t know about that?” she asked. “Visla Maktan has attempted this process of a few of your fellow Wampeh. Those who possess your unique gift. I think there may have even been a Ghalian involved.”
Samara held back, but her every cell wanted to rip the woman’s throat out with her fangs, consequences be damned. Instead, she stood quietly. A Ghalian did not give in to emotions, and she was still one, in spirit if not name.
“So what of this one?” the emmik asked. “She’s been nothing but a pain in the ass since we captured her. Can we use her power, or is this just another waste of time and resources?”
“Oh, most definitely. But harvesting it will be a challenge,” Niallik replied, holding up the small vial of iridescent liquid.
The emmik’s eyes widened. “You did it?” he asked, excited by what this meant.
“I did.”
“Excellent. Then we can finally eliminate that fool Jinnik. Drain him completely and ramp up production. The visla will be pleased to hear that––”
“You should have let me finish,” she interrupted. “You may not kill the visla. He is the best source you have at the moment.”
“But you said––”
“I said I was successful with the girl, but that harvesting her magic will be quite a challenge. This tiny vial, potent as it may be, was the result of an entire session, and its extraction required a great deal more effort than anticipated.”
“So use more, then. Squeeze it all out of her!”
Niallik shook her head. “You don’t understand. Either you wait patiently for me to perfect the process, or the girl dies from us pushing it too quickly. As Visla Maktan was quite clear about this one’s worth, I think we both know which option he will prefer.”
It was the emmik’s turn to hold his tongue and grudgingly agree, though he was not thrilled by the turn of events. Samara enjoyed his tiny comeuppance, even as her face remained utterly impassive.
“What are you laughing at?” he growled.
“I am not laughing,” she replied.
He studied her with a hard stare, noting the slightest hint of amusement behind her cold eyes. “Damn Ghalian,” he said, then stormed out of the room.
Things were getting a bit messy, and Samara worried that they could get worse yet. With Visla Ravik dead, the reins were largely released, and that was not good. Ravik, as bad as he may have been, was at least a good buffer for Maktan. That one was truly power hungry, and she had already seen full well that he was willing to do just about anything in the pursuit of more of it.
For the time being, however, she would simply have to deal with the cards she had been dealt, even if that meant put
ting up with Ravik’s former lackey and his newfound power trip. He was only an emmik, after all, and his reaction to his sudden rise in the ranks was somewhat understandable, though annoying.
“Is the girl back in her cell?” Samara asked.
“Yes. But she’ll be out for a while. The process is a bit draining,” Niallik said, casting a little smile at the blood-sucking killer. “Something I’m sure you can understand.”
Samara ignored her. There was simply no point in engaging Maktan’s newest henchwoman. So she didn’t. Instead, and a bit to Niallik’s disappointment, the deadly killer simply walked from the room without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The lean, pale woman’s presence in the smelting and weapons manufacturing facility had put the workers somewhat on edge from the get-go. They had known of her working for the two vislas, of course. Rumors were quick to spread, and they’d known of her for some time.
But when their entire operation on Gravalis was upended and forced to relocate on a moment’s notice to a distant planet, seeing the Wampeh walking the halls of their new home had left them all a bit ill at ease.
She was a Wampeh Ghalian, after all. Or, she had been, anyway. Whatever her status with that organization, one thing was perfectly clear. She could end all of them in an instant without batting an eye, and though she was under Maktan’s employ, there was still enough of a lingering sense of danger surrounding her that no one on the grounds was truly comfortable with her presence.
“Open the door,” she said when she arrived at the holding chamber.
There were only two guests at the moment. Both of them wearing control collars and sealed into their cells. But the emmik had seen to it that there was a guard posted at the door at all times. Given the value of the pair inside, she supposed his paranoia made some sense, though if an intruder made it through the weapons smelting facilities and as far as the cells, he would have far more to worry about than that.
